some days
by the crabby lamb
Summary: Shikamaru watches his wife of forty some years and thinks that some days are definitely better than others. AU ShikaSaku, NaruSakuSasu,


**_don't own  
_**another random, bored exercise scraplet. i've been catching up on the manga and was inspired with the whole "we'll both die" thing, although i automatically thought both omg!harrypotter and _called that bitch waaaay back in the day.  
_**btw: **killerbee, kushina, and minato **all equal** much **  
**kabuto looks like the lovechild of harry potter and voldemort.  
i watched deathly hallows recently, _so sue me for spotting awkward similiarities. _

**Some Days Are Better Than Others  
**_to those left behind._

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_Some days are better than others_, Shikamaru thinks, watching his wife of forty some years just sitting on the stone bench in the dark. Some days she wakes up with a smile, puts on her long red coat and wraps the dark blue and vibrant orange scarf he bought her that night in France – she'd lingered in the store window with that sigh and sad look just long enough he had to buy it, no questions asked – around her neck and goes into the garden to pick fresh flowers for their table. Some days she surprises him and fixes his favorite dish for supper and brings out a bottle of his favorite wine and teases him with a smile, "Oh honey, you'd think I'd forget you love Pinot Noir?"

He doesn't have the heart to answer.

_Some days_, Shikamaru sighs, running a hand over what little gray hair was left on his head. Some days she wakes up and remembers his name, remembers their life together, their children. She names them off one by one on her fingers: first their son and daughter, then their eleven grandchildren, and their five great grand children. She opens the old boxes Shikamaru leaves on the vanity in their room and goes through the old things, the story of their lives, both separate and together. Some days she remembers too much and cries herself to sleep, others she merely sighs wistfully and smiles at him – he worries on those days, she was never one to give up, and that look is just a little too sad.

Some days they lie together in their bed and listen to the birds singing out in the garden. He holds her close, and she lets him.

"It will be nice for us both," she would whisper, "if I would just die already. It would save you the worry. You would get your life back, and I would get mine back, too."

She has always been a blunt woman; Shikamaru will have to remind himself of that on those days. "You troublesome woman, don't talk like that. I've always been a worrier, who will I have to fuss over when you're gone?"

"Well Shiho from the library has aged pretty well. Her tits don't touch the ground when she sits."

Shikamaru wishes those days were more often, because, try as he might, some days will always be better than others.

Some days she wakes and forgets her own name. Some days she's violent. Some days she slips on her long black coat, wraps the dark blue and vibrant orange scarf he bought her that night in France around her neck, and goes out into the garden, to the old stone bench by the duck pond, and sits.

She doesn't move, even when Tsunade, their long time live-in nurse, comes with her smooth voice and tries to coax her back in the house.

She doesn't eat or drink, even when he pleads with her and holds her hand. She just sits.

"Why are you sitting out here in the cold, Sakura? We have a nice warm, cozy little spot inside by the fireplace for you. Let's get you inside and warmed up, eh Sakura?" the nurse will sweet talk, standing in the cold with a folded up blanket because she knows nothing will get the stubborn, old woman inside.

True to her nature, Sakura digs her heels in and won't move. "I'm waiting for him. If I leave, he'll think I said no. I have to wait for him," she always says, and holds onto the stone bench with all the might she has left.

"Who are you waiting on, Sakura?" the sweet, young nurse who came in one day to relieve Tsunade had asked.

"Naruto. He's supposed to come back today. He was on the front lines, in Paris. He's gone to save my Sasuke. He wrote that he'll be back tonight. So, I can't leave. My boys are coming home, today. So I can't leave, just yet. My boys are coming back."

Shikamaru sighs again, and takes the thick wool blanket from the shelf where Tsunade leaves it sitting and walks into the garden. These days are always the hardest on him. She doesn't remember. He's tried telling her, but it's no use. In her mind she is still the nineteen year old girl sitting on the bench in Central Park in the middle of winter, waiting her best friend and fiancé to show up like they promised. He doesn't even bother to explain anymore – it hurt enough, telling her the first time about the plane crash, about how they never made it out of France, about how her boys were heroes, but they were dead and never coming back . So instead, he places the blanket over her shoulders just before she begins to cry.

"They're not coming," she cries, pulling the blanket tight. Fat teardrops fall down over her wrinkled cheeks. Shikamaru feels the hot sting in his own eyes and shakes his head. "Why aren't they coming? Has something happened?"

"They're just running late, Sakura. They'll be here," he whispers. He can see Tsunade coming down the walkway with the syringe in her hand, the male orderlies trailing behind her pushing the gurney.

"No, they're not coming! Something must have happened. They're never late," Sakura blubbers, her nose turning bright red. He can't stand to see her this way anymore.

"Hey, look at that," Shikamaru whispers, leaning close into her ear and waves at some random point in the distance. Tsunade gently takes Sakura's arm and pushes up the sleeves. "There they are. They're just running a little late, that's all. Probably a p-plane delay. They're just men, you know. You can't expect them to be perfect."

She smiles, bright and beautiful through the tears, just like she had all those years before, when her boys were at her side. Tsunade pokes the needle through the skin and injects the medicine that will put his wife to sleep yet again.

"Oh no," Sakura slurs, the medicine already taking effect, "out of them? You can't expect that."

As the men lift his wife onto the gurney that will take her back to their room, Tsunade lays a strong hand on his shoulder. "Maybe tomorrow will be better."

Shikamaru nods, because some days are better than others.

Today was not a good day.


End file.
